


Runaway- Part 2

by AlessNox



Series: Starcrossed [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Drag, Drama, F/M, Gen, John on the run, Love, M/M, Peril, Sherlock on the case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlessNox/pseuds/AlessNox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Runaway Pact

There was one thing that Doctor John Watson was good at knowing, and that was when he was about to explode. He had a temper that was worse than most, in fact it was bloody awful, but he made sure that no one saw it because before the overwhelming need to pull out a gun and shoot someone neatly between the eyes overtook him, he would put on his coat and walk away. Taking a moment to cool down had saved him many embarrassments and possible murder sentences.

He knew that now his home would be safer without him there. Murder, rape, strangulation, all of these things passed through his mind. It made him angry, their expectations. The way that Mary had stared at him with eyes that cut like knives while smiling at the guests and passing out Christmas punch. Sherlock with too little desire and Mycroft with too much, not to mention Molly, still pining after all of these years. He walked alone through the streets of London, finally settling on a lonely park bench to review his options. They were few.

Mary was his wife, a beautiful, loving, compassionate woman who had given him more than he had any right to ask for. She had also given him a look that conveyed more guilt than he had felt since looking down at the face of a dead afghan child soldier that he had killed. One of the stories that he still, despite their marriage and long courtship, had never told her about, and never would.

Sherlock Holmes was his best friend and lately his lover. He had dreamed...(God what fantastic dreams they were!) of Sherlock admitting his undying love; Of them living happily ever after; White tuxedos and domestic bliss, but then reality had kicked in. Sherlock's callous remark about coffee had put a damper on those thoughts, forcing him to remember that Sherlock Holmes was still Sherlock Holmes: Brilliant, beautiful, thoughtless.

John had built his life around Sherlock and Mary. What life did John have without them? What good was an unemployed former doctor, former detective, former soldier? John had left Sherlock to make a life of his own, but what kind of life had he made for himself? Not much of one, actually. It was time for some hard thinking about who he was and what he wanted out of life, but if he spent another minute sitting on this darned park bench, then he would be frozen to it. John stood up and started to walk again.

The people streamed around him, eagerly getting in some last minute shopping before the stores closed. Listening to the Christmas music spilling out of storefronts lit by fairy lights as he walked among streets full of happy people rushing home to their happy wives and happy lovers made John wish that he could torch the city and burn it to the ground. He couldn't go home, but where else could he go? Who else would take him in? Who would accept this darker side of himself? Not Mike. Not Greg. Then he realized, there had really been only one choice after all.

  
  


John walked up to the wooden door and stared at it. His feet were freezing. His cheeks felt like rock. He knew that it was warm inside, but he was still hesitant to knock on the door of the flat that he hadn't entered in over a year. But home wasn't an option now. Neither was 221B Baker street. He knocked.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The sound of loud voices and music filtered through the door.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Footsteps and chatter and then the door opened to reveal a woman: Big shouldered, red hair (dyed), nose ring, pierced lip, and a shocked expression. "Hello Harry," John said.

"Oh, why are you here?" 

John frowned. "Nice to see you too sis. Can I come in?"

Harry looked over her shoulder and then lowered her voice. "I'm entertaining, if you understand my meaning. Can you come back tomorrow?"

"No." 

Harry looked puzzled and then stepped back, looking John over from head to toe. "Mary finally kicked you out didn't she? I knew that couldn't last."

John's anger flared. "No she didn't. Damn it! I'm your brother let me in before I freeze to death!"

Harry crossed her arms and glared at him. "You haven't visited, called, or written since the wedding, so tell me one good reason that I should feel compelled to give up a pleasant evening to deal with one of your tantrums?"

John stood at attention and licked his lips nervously before he said. "I've come to evoke The Runaway Pact."

Harry's mouth fell open, and she laughed. Then she stood aside and let him in.


	2. Hanging with Harry

John sat nursing a bottle of beer at a quiet table, or as close to a quiet table as was possible in the bar where Harry had taken them. The room was dark except for the red and purple glare from neon beer signs and the glow of television screens. Harry sat across from him with her friend Jazz. A young woman with long hair that changed color from red to blue to black. She smiled at him. "So this is your brother. Well, he don't look so bad."

"Back off Jazz, he's an awful stick in the mud." Harry commented taking another swig of beer. "Besides that, he's gay."

"I am not gay."

"Yes you are. I can't believe it. You evoking the runaway pact. I guess that the honeymoon is over."

"Wait a sec," Jazz asked. "Can somebody explain to me this 'runaway pact' thing."

Harry laughed, "It was something we came up with as kids. Mom and Dad were in this bad place, and it wasn't fun being at home, so Johnny here got the idea to move into this nearby abandoned building and live there, but he was afraid that our parents would find him, so he made me agree to this pact."

"Don't act like it's all my idea. You were part of this too."

"I'm not saying anything bad about you. Hell, you are so sensitive!" Harry yelled at him before turning back to Jazz. "Well, we agreed that when the pact was evoked the other would swear to help the runaway in whatever way was necessary without giving away his or her location to the person or persons that he or she was running from."

"So did you ever use this pact Harry?"

"You bet she did," John replied. "Lots of times, but this is only the second time I've ever evoked it. So Harry. Will you do it? Will you help me?"

Harry looked at her brother and fiddled with the bead on her pierced lip. Then she smiled. "Of course I'll help you brother, but on one condition."

"What's that?" 

"Tell me who you are running from and why?"

John looked down and then rubbed the back of his close shaved hair with one hand. "I'm in a sort of a situation, a romantic situation, and I need to get away to think about it."

"Romantic?" Jazz asked. "Didn't you say that he just got married?"

Harry smirked. "It's because he married a girl, but he's gay."

"I am not gay,"

"Well a little bird told me that they saw John Watson kissing another bloke under a bridge. It took me exactly one guess to figure out who it was." Harry laughed. "So love triangle is it? This is so rich!"

"It's not funny."

"Isn't it?" she said. "The only reason that you're having trouble with your wife is because of another man. I said it a million times. You are gay."

"I am NOT gay!" John yelled and then looked around nervously as others started to stare.

"Did you kiss Sherlock, or didn't you?"

John rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Well... although I am not gay," John began, "I may be a bit ... bisexual."

Harry laughed even harder. "Oh John, bisexuals are a myth. It's just gay guys who are too repressed to admit it."

"That's not true."

"That is so true, and you are so gay." Harry turned to Jazz, "Look at that shirt. See how he wears it loose. Lookin' like he just threw on something he had lying around the house and didn't have time to button it up. I've seen him spend hours in front of the mirror trying to make himself look casual. He is such a liar. He acts like he doesn't care how he looks, but he's always getting' those striped shirts and the country doctor jackets. Staring at himself while adjusting his tie." Harry moved her hand back and forth under her throat, "You wouldn't know it to look at him, but he is vain, so yes John, you are gay."

"Well this argument is getting old. So let me tell you the problem. This is going to be harder than just letting me crash in your flat."

"And why is that?"

"Because they'll probably come looking for me, and nobody is as good at finding things as Sherlock Holmes."

"Bloody Hell!" Harry spat.

"Language!" John said.

Harry stood up so straight that she almost rose out of her chair. "So you're still trying to lecture me? My perfect brother who is two-timing his beautiful new bride with his old flatmate?"

"I would have expected a little sympathy from my own sister."

"Like the sympathy you gave me when Clara and I broke up? I don't think you want to bring that up now do you?"

John turned away then and grasped the neck of the bottle without taking a sip. "So will you help me, or not?" he asked.  
 "I told you I would. But this is going to require help. We need to find someone who is clever, has resources, and is good at disguising men. That means we need to see..."

"Brandywine!" Harry and Jazz said together.

"What's Brandywine?" John asked.


	3. Brandywine

John stood, hands in pockets, in an unimpressive street in front of a nondescript door set apart from its neighbors by a purple light. "Are you sure that this is the place?" he asked. "It doesn't look like a bar. It looks closed."

"The light is on, and it's not that late. If you hadn't wasted all of that time dithering in front of the post office we would have been here sooner," Harry said as she and Jazz led the way in. John followed.

The entry was dark, but it opened out into a cabaret set with round candle-lit tables surrounding a stage. A tall woman with pink hair and a red dress was singing a love song. She moved with the music in a way that set off her narrow hips, too narrow. John looked again. Suddenly he understood what Harry and Jazz had been joking about all of the way here, about how he would become 'a new man'.

He looked around for a quiet table in the back only to find most of them already taken, mostly by single men, but some by couples. John stared at one couple wondering if they were really a man and a woman as he had first thought, before Harry chided him for being rude. She pulled him to a table closer to the stage.

John looked down at the scarf-covered table. He picked up a purple matchbook that said _Brandywine_. This was the sort of place where they still printed matchbooks even though smoking indoors was now against the law. John wondered what people used the matches for. Burning evidence perhaps?

Suddenly John felt eyes watching him and he looked up to see a tall woman (man?) towering over him. She had black hair piled up in a bouffant hair-do and was wearing a blue sequined floor-length dress. Her make-up covered face made her look dramatic and fairly beautiful.

"Brandywine!" Harry said reaching out a hand to her which she took in both of hers, smiling.

"Harry darling, and Jazz," she said in a deep sensuous voice, "So good to see you again so soon. And who is this incredibly handsome young man?"

"I'm not that young. I'm certainly no younger than you," John said.

"Oh I like him," Brandywine said extending a manicured hand.

"This is my brother, John Watson. John, this is Brandywine," Harry introduced them.

"Pleased to meet you," John said reaching out to shake her hand.

She took his hand and clasped it between both of hers before sitting down in the chair next to him. John jumped up to adjust her chair, and she smiled broadly. "I must say Harry, you have the most charming brother. Why did you never bring him before?"

"Well, My brother and I don't often socialize together," Harry said, "You see..."

"Harry!" John interrupted knowing what she was about to say.

"I was just going to say that we needed her help," Harry said kicking him below the table.

Brandywine looked back and forth between the two of them. "My help? How can I help you?"

"Well," Harry said leaning forward and lowering her voice," he wants to get away for a while, but he will very likely be followed. He needs to not be recognized, you understand?"

Brandywine flashed an enigmatic smile and then batted her large lashes at John. Just then the stage lights dimmed and when they came up again, there was a white-faced figure covered by a large billowy black hooded robe. The face was white and as perfectly formed as a mask. She stood still for a second, sure that all eyes in the room were on her before she dropped the robe to reveal a strapless white floor length gown. John had to look twice to make sure than she was a man. But the shoulders were a bit too straight and was that shadow chest hair?

John felt a touch on the back of his hand. He turned to look into Brandywine's dark eyes,"The art of the female impersonator is the art of illusion," she said leaning over to whisper in his ear. "You may think that the best female impersonators are those that look most like women, but you would be wrong. The best impersonators always have a tell-tell hint that makes you suspect that she is not. You wonder _'is she or isn't she?'_ It is the ambiguity that makes her so alluring. That makes her not just male or female, but a goddess. It's a powerful feeling. Once you've tried it, it's hard to give up.

"I don't want to be..." John began but Brandywine hushed him with a finger on her burgundy colored lips.

She turned to Harry. "I can't do anything without interviewing him first." She raised a hand, and a waiter materialized at her side. "Give these fine, young ladies a drink on me will you Rae? I'm going to take John here to my office."

Brandywine rose from her chair and reached out her hand to grasp John's. He took it and she sashayed out of the room pulling him behind her. More than one set of eyes followed them as they passed.

A man in a silver dress and high heels rushed out of a dressing room and asked another man if he had seen his razor. When they had left, John turned around to see Brandywine standing before an open door. She motioned for him to go inside.

John didn't know exactly what he was expecting. A pink upholstered couch and lace curtains perhaps, but not the plain rectangular business office with the wooden desk and the green fake leather chair. She closed the door. "Take a seat John," she said lowering herself behind the desk.

John looked around the office. The walls were covered with framed posters of her glory days as a headliner. There were also pictures of Brandywine standing next to celebrities and dignitaries that showed that she was quite a bit older than John had thought. She had really aged well. "So John," she began, "you need to get away. Why?"

John puckered his lips and took a breath, "I have a wife, and a friend who are after me to ...make a decision, and I can't think clearly when either of them are around. I need some time away to think things through. It's confusing. I don't know if you can understand."

"Oh, I think that I do understand you, John. Your problem is not as uncommon as you might think. There are many people out there who have problems with family who don't understand them. Sometimes they even send people after them, to find them, even to hurt them. The world is not kind to people who are different."

"I'm not gay," John said.

"Did I say that you were?" Brandywine countered. "Pardon me. I don't mean to seem nosy, but helping people is not without risk, and I won't do it without a good reason. Tell me about you, John. How do you feel now?"

John sat back in the chair, and then he crossed his arms facing away as he began, "I feel ... like I'm being pulled apart, dissected. Like my emotions are being taken out and examined and some are being thrown away. Like I'm a flag in a storm blowing violently back and forth never knowing where the next breeze will take me, only knowing that it will rip me to shreds. I try to aim for a goal, only to find that my compass is off, and I've missed the destination by miles. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know who I'm supposed to be, and I can't just keep smiling and pretending that it will all be alright. I just... don't want to feel this way anymore, and I know that neither of them will ever let me go."

John put his head in his hands and sighed, then he sat back and licked his lips nervously. "So, is my reason good enough?" he asked his eyes questioning, "Will you help me?".

Brandywine looked into John's earnest eyes and smiled. "Yes, I'll help you," she said, "for you honey, I'd face them off myself. I could sense your desperation the moment you sat in that chair. I will help you get away, but I want you to consider this. The people who really love you will accept your decisions whatever they are. Maybe not immediately, but eventually."

Brandywine stood and walked around the desk to the door. John jumped up to open the door for her and she smiled at him as she said. "Oh and John, about you not being gay. I have a confession to make." She leaned down to whisper in his ear and said, " I'm not either." Then she adjusted her wig and strode out of the room.


	4. Escape

"What do you think Tam, the brunette or the ginger. I'm leaning toward the ginger," said a man in the silver sequined dress.

"Are you out of your mind?" Tam shrieked, "he's a natural blond, and quite a bombshell he'll make with those delicate features of his, but he's going to need a shave."

In a back room at Brandywine's nightclub, John sat in a chair before a lighted mirror as two men in dresses fussed over him. Harry and Jazz sat in the corner of the room rolling with laughter as they watched.

Tam lifted John's chin. "You should moisturize you know," he said as he smeared shaving cream across John's face. Harry whispered something to Jazz and they broke out laughing. John frowned at them through the mirror. "Now stop that will you! "Tam said, "you'll make me cut your cheek."

"I think you're right about the blond. It goes well with his complexion," Sam said holding a blond wig against John's face as Tam pulled a razor across his chin and above his lip. It had been a long time since someone had shaved him. John closed his eyes and tried to think of it as just another trip to the barber shop. Tam wiped his face with a towel and rubbed it with his finger. "There," he said, " smooth as a baby's bottom."

Sam lifted red lipstick in front of his face. "What about this?" 

"Red! Do you want him to look like a slut? No it's baby soft pink for Johnny here. He's going to be a classy lady, not some common harlot." Tam bent over and pulled pink lipstick off of a tray. "Now pucker up, honey."

"I'm going to make a very ugly woman," John said.

"Trust us, you'll have men chasing after you by the time we're done with you."

"So, no change there," John said. Harry lifted an eyebrow and John's chuckle turned to a frown. "I mean, some men will go for anything in a skirt."

"Men like you you mean?" Harry added from the back of the room. John turned in his seat and gave her a cold stare.

An hour later, a John-sized woman stood surrounded by admirers who smiled and whispered among themselves. "He's adorable!" Sam said clapping his hands.

John was wearing beige low-heeled shoes, stockings, a dusky pink A-line dress covered by a flower print queen's-cut jacket. A string of white pearls with matching earrings set off his cute make-up covered face surrounded by a short blond wig whose tips turned in like the best 60s models. He clutched a pink bag to his chest, but it wasn't big enough to hide behind, unfortunately.

"I look ridiculous," John said.

"I am a genius," Tam replied.

Brandywine walked in carrying a Polaroid camera. She snapped a picture of him.

Hey," John said holding up his hands, "No evidence."

"It would truly be a crime if I didn't preserve this moment. You're quite attractive as both a man and a woman. Even more so because you are totally ignorant of your charms. Come with me, and I'll show you the secret way out."

As John walked down the hall, Harry came over to walk beside him. The ginger wig had ended up on her head.

"You look like Mom," John said.

"Stuff it!" Harry spat.

"What are you complaining of? I'm the one in drag." 

"Well I'm dressed as a man dressed in drag, so I think I beat you on that count."

"Where's Jazz?" 

"She's on another mission," Harry replied as they walked around a corner into a darkened corridor.

Brandywine unlocked a door and led them through it. "Go to the end of that hallway. You'll find a stairwell that exits on a different street. Wait in the doorway until some people pass. It will be harder to recognize you in a crowd."

John turned and grabbed Brandywine by the arm. "Thank You," he said.

"You're welcome," she replied her voice lower and unaffected for once. Then she stepped back into character and waved to them as she passed back through the door, " Don't be a stranger Dr. Watson. A woman like me always appreciates a visit from a gentleman."

The door shut and locked behind them.


	5. Kissing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this video:  
> Three Continent's Watson  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XoJvbK7usEA

The tall thin woman undulated on the stage. Her creamy white skin contrasting sharply with the red of her velvet bikini and Santa hat. She turned her back showing the white straps of her g-string as she squatted down on her high-heels directly in front of John. She bent over. Her long blond hair flopping onto the stage, as he looked up at her, his mouth slightly open. He licked his lips.  
  
Harry walked over and sat beside him. She looked up at the long pale legs. Then she nudged John in the ribs, tossing her head toward a table.  
  
John rose and followed his sister through the club to a table far enough from the stage so that they could hear themselves talk. She sat down. John sat beside her and glanced back over to the stage to watch the woman perform an elaborate backbend. Harry put the beers down, and John picked one up and drank.  
  
"So John, Harry said, how long do you plan to stay here? John! ... are you even listening to me?"  
  
John turned his head toward his sister. "What?"  
  
"I asked if you were listening to me?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah I'm listening Harry? What do you want?"  
  
"I want to know why we're here."  
  
"Look, I took you to a bar, and I haven't said a damn thing about your drinking."  
  
"That's because I refuse to get drunk at these prices. This place is outrageous! And these people, standing around with their hands hidden under their coats. There's not a person in this place I'd be willing to touch, much less talk to. Let's go, John."  
  
"Why? I like girls, you like girls. This shouldn't be a problem for you."  
  
"I like my _women_ to have a bit of class."  
  
"Now come on Harry," John said slurring a little. "I'm sure these girls would be very nice if you got to know them."  
  
Harry hmphed and sipped her beer. "Are you going to tell me what happened now, or are we just going to go trolling all night?"  
  
John looked down at his drink and said nothing.  
  
"Now John, I think that you owe me something. I was having a pretty good night before you came over all needy and had me take you halfway across England to run away from your wife. I had to call in some pretty serious favors to muddy our trail, and all this so that you could drink away your troubles and look at scantily clad women? We could have done this back in London. Can you at least tell me what it is that you're thinking about right now?"  
  
"Thinking?" John said. "I'm trying not to think." The dance ended and John clapped. No one else did.  
  
"So, what happened? I heard about Sherlock being hurt. It was serious wasn't it? Is he going to die or something? Or maybe, Mary gave you an ultimatum chose one or the other. Is that what happened?"  
  
"No, Harry no."  
  
"Then what is it? Do you usually go to strip clubs when you have love problems?"  
  
"This place has nothing to do with love.  It's about sex. That's why I'm here. I happen to like sex, you know. 'Three-Continents Watson' they used to call me, because no matter where we went, I was usually able to pull some girl or other even when the other blokes struck out."  
  
"It's true, and I don't know how you do it. Clara said it was something to do with your 'funny awkwardness' or 'awkward forwardness', or something like that. You were always chasing skirts, even as a boy. Although, lately, I suppose you've been chasing trousers. See where that's got you."  
  
"Chasing trousers? What a stupid thing to say! I'm not gay, you know. Why does no one ever believe me?"  
  
"I don't know. Maybe because **you sleep with men**!"  
  
A few people at the other tables turned toward them then. One with veiled interest. John sighed, then he leaned his head toward Harry's and continued talking in a lower voice. "I don't sleep with _men_. I have slept with one man. One! I don't find any other men even remotely desirable. My feelings aren't so simple or obvious that they can be placed in a box with a label on the front saying GAY or STRAIGHT. But even if I could, it wouldn't make this decision any easier."  
  
"What decision, John? Are you thinking of leaving Mary?"  
  
John put down his drink. "I was remembering something that Mycroft asked me once."  
  
"Mycroft?" Harry asked. "You mean Sherlock's brother? Did he ask you about strip clubs?"  
  
John chuckled, "No, but he did ask me about sex. He asked if my choosing Mary over Sherlock was about the sex. I was positive that my answer was no, but I'm not so sure anymore. I think about sex quite a lot, and he doesn't."  
  
"Mycroft Holmes doesn't think about sex?"  
  
"No, not Mycroft...well actually, I don't know if Mycroft Holmes thinks about sex, or at least, I don't really want to know what he thinks. I think that I may know too much about it actually, but that wasn't what I was talking about. I meant...oh it doesn't matter."  
  
"Is this some kind of ...I don't know, gender insecurity thing. Do you think that having sex with a bloke one time means that you're not a man?"  
  
"It was more than one time, Harry."  
  
"How long?" she asked. "You always denied you and Sherlock were involved. You denied it very strongly, in fact. What's so different now?"  
  
"Nothing's different, I mean everything is. Christ! I don't know how to explain it." John sat back and looked up at the ceiling. "I'm just wondering what's wrong with me... I thought that I was more than this, but when I look back ... I mean, how many times have I dated a woman just because I thought that I'd have a chance to get off with her?  If they weren't interested in having sex with me, then I wasn't interested in them. I talk about relationships and compatibility, but is it really just about the sex in the end? Does my decision really rest on who gave me the better orgasm?"  
  
"Who did give you the better orgasm?"  
  
"Harry!"  
  
"You brought it up, not me."  
  
"Quiet, they're starting again."  
  
Harry looked up and saw an identical blond girl come to the pole. This one was wearing an elf hat and a couple of green felt circles. "So how does getting hot over girls you don't know, help you figure out who you really love?"  
  
"It doesn't," John said. "I'm just acknowledging the kind of man I am. The kind of man that I used to be before I met Mary. Before I met Sherlock even, I didn't have these kinds of problems. The sex was simple. No strings attached, just scratching an itch and going on with life. I sometimes wish that I could go back to that."  
  
Harry smiled, "You sound like a bloke on his stag night. You have obviously forgotten what it's like to be single. Tell me how many people did you shag the months after you got back from Afghanistan?"  
  
John tore his eyes from the stage and looked at her, "I was wounded, shell-shocked. It wasn't tops on my mind then."  
  
"What about your first year of medical school? How many times did you complain to me then that you couldn't get a shag?"  
  
"Alright, point taken," John said. "Then when I did finally find a girl who liked me, she ended up going home with you. Do you know how emasculating that is? To lose a girl to your own sister?"  
  
"Oh you were never gonna get Clara," Harry said. "You weren't her type."  
  
"Obviously not."  Then quieter he asked, "so have you seen her...since?"  
  
Harry frowned, "Once or twice. She'd be mad at you, you know, taking me to a bar much less a strip club. You were always the responsible one."  
  
"So are you drunk?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then she wouldn't be mad at me," John said before drinking the rest of his beer. He leaned his head on his hand. "Maybe it was the sex where I went wrong with Sherlock. Maybe if we had never had sex, then this stupid blow up wouldn't have happened, and my life with Mary would have been problem free, but I don't think so. I've always felt ... something for Sherlock ever since the first moment that I met him, and it wasn't just sexual attraction. I think that the reason I was so insulted when people called me gay,  was because they were implying this bond between us was something simple and base like lust. As if, that was all that I saw in Sherlock. As if, I wouldn't like him if he wasn't so handsome. It was never about his looks. Sherlock could be ugly or deformed and I'd still love him just as much. Maybe even more so. And the fact that I love him doesn't stop me from loving Mary and hoping that we can have a life together. Mary always used to say to me that love isn't a 'zero sum game'. There isn't a fixed amount, and you don't use it up, so I ran with my feelings, despite convention, and it was terrifying and wonderful at the same time."  
  
"But something happened recently, between Sherlock and me. I felt something for him that he didn't return, and I began to wonder if that hadn't always been the case. If in the end it wasn't all about the sex after all. The fact that I like it, and for the most part he doesn't.  
  
"And I hurt Mary. She won't admit it, but I know that I did. I took advantage of her because I knew that I could. There's only one thing that she made me promise when I married her, and the fact that I would even consider breaking that promise after what she has let me get away with, is awful. I'm beginning to think that I'm what's wrong with my marriage. I'm the one who's caused all of this.  I mean...It wasn't Sherlock who left me. I was the one who left him, and I think that I may have left him for all the wrong reasons.  
  
"Everything in my life has become so twisted and complex. I don't understand my own feelings anymore, so I wanted to do something simple. Something that I can understand. So please give the moralizing a rest, and just let me sit here and enjoy my scantily-clad women while I may, before I go back to hating myself as I have been doing ever since abandoning the people who love me at Christmastime."  
  
"John," Harry said. "You're being too hard on yourself."  
  
"Am I? Without Sherlock and without Mary, I'm a pretty worthless person." Harry put down her bottle and frowned at her brother who seemed on the point of tears. Then she noticed the tall, brunette woman in the blue bikini top and miniskirt standing beside the table staring down fixedly at her brother.  
  
"Dr. Watson? It's you isn't it?" she asked.  
  
John looked up at the woman. She was very attractive. "Yes, I'm Doctor Watson," he said.  
  
"You don't remember me do you?" she said looking down at his surprised expression. "I don't suppose that you would. I looked terrible then, but you saved my life."  
  
John smiled, "Really, I think that I would have remembered saving you."  
  
"It was in London. I was locked in the bottom of a barge by my jerk of a boyfriend. He was a murder. He had me chained to the mast, and the boat was sinking. You shot my chain to free me, and then you carried me out. You really are a hero."  
  
"Oh! I remember.The case of the murderous mariner. What happened to you afterward?"  
  
"Well, as you can see, I left London. I'm taking Open University classes now. I hope one day to become a nurse. I've always wished that I could meet you again...to thank you. But I never introduced myself, my name is Phoebe Banks." She reached out and took his hand in hers. They shook hands, then she looked down at his fingers and frowned. "You're married?" she said. "You weren't before."  
  
"Six months ago," Harry said. The woman looked up noticing Harry for the first time.  
  
"Your wife?"

  
John laughed, "No, that's my sister."  
  
The woman smiled a sad smile. "I sort of hoped that I might get there first. But then again, they say the best ones are either married or gay."  
  
"Or both," Harry said. John glared at her.  
  
"When I saw you here, I just had to come over and tell you how much what you did meant to me. You saved me. I know it's a funny thing to say, but I owe you my life."  
  
"Don't mention it. It was my pleasure," John said. "It would truly be a crime to deprive the world of a beautiful woman such as yourself."  
  
The woman blushed then. Her smile almost glowed. She looked down at her feet shyly, and then she looked into his eyes. "I have to ask. I always wanted to kiss you. Do you think that you'd mind if I just gave you a kiss before I go. I know that I'll never have the chance again." Harry rolled her eyes.  
  
"I certainly wouldn't mind it," John said a slight smile on his lips as he looked with amusement over at his sister who sighed heavily.  
  
The woman placed one hand lightly on his shoulder. Then she swung her leg over and sat on his lap wrapping her arms around his neck. John pulled back a bit trying to look at her face. She shook her hair back and then leaned forward to touch her lips to his. Her kiss was deep and long and sensual. John sat in his chair only lightly touching her back. Even so, their antics drew the attention of some of the patrons who seemed to think her kiss at least as interesting as the girl on the stage. Harry pulled out her phone and began recording the kiss which went on for quite a bit longer. John's hand was pushed firmly against her in the end, when she finally came up for air tossing her head back and closing her eyes to savor the moment. John's other hand had somehow ended up clutching her breast, and it was clear by the way that he sat that his jeans had become uncomfortable.  
  
Harry clicked off her phone. She expected to be able to get a great deal of mileage out of this juicy bit of blackmail.  
  
"Thank you," the woman said.  
  
"You're very welcome," John replied, his voice gone low and hoarse.  
  
Phoebe climbed to her feet. She leaned over and whispered, "I get off at one, if you want to talk or anything. I just want you to know how much what you did meant to me. You really are my hero."  
  
John smiled, "I'm sorry I...can't."  
  
She frowned and then bit her lip. "Oh well. I do hope to see you again sometime. So glad to have run into you."  
  
"Yes, very nice to have met you, Phoebe," John said following her with her eyes as she walked across the room.  
  
Harry uploaded the image to her online storage so that John couldn't simply erase her phone, but when she looked up at his dazed expression, she realized that he probably hadn't noticed her filming him at all. "Are you ready to go now?" Harry asked.  
  
"Yeah," John said. "Let's get to the hotel, I think that I need a cold shower."


	6. Students

An alarm beeped and John Watson reached out and turned it off before opening his eyes. His head was on a soft pillow and there were orange and pink scarves strewn over the back of the chair where his trousers were neatly folded. He turned his head and a brunette rolled over to look at him with her sultry brown eyes. "Good Morning Dr. Watson," she said. He dropped his head back on the pillow and tried to remember how he had got to this place.

* * *

The previous morning, John had woken when the ringing of the phone had set up an awkward resonance with the pounding in his head. He reached out and lifted the receiver to his ear as he whispered with a dry mouth, "What is it, Sherlock?"

"Dr Watson. This is the front desk with your wake up call."

"Wake up ...? Ah yes. Thank you." he said before hanging up the phone and rolling onto his back with a moan.

His sister was asleep on the other bed. He had found her downstairs in the hotel bar chatting up a swiss tourist well on the way to getting drunk. He had pulled her away, and got glass of wine poured down the front of his trousers for his troubles. He turned on the desk lamp and winced, covering his eyes as he slowly sat up.

He realized then that the knocking sound that he was hearing was someone at the door. He hesitated for a moment before staggering over to open it. A young dark-haired woman stood there expectantly. His memory tried and failed to supply her name.

"Hello, may I help you?

"Good Morning, Dr Watson, are you ready to go?"

He wiped his eyes and frowned. "Good Morning...uh...where are we going?"

"To the medical school. Don't you remember? You were to give a talk this morning. Then afterwards there's a tour."

"Oh yes, God! I forgot all about that. It was arranged months ago, but then I canceled."

"Yes, we were overjoyed when we heard that you had actually managed to make it. I've come to take you to breakfast."

John sighed, "I'm sorry miss. I honestly forgot all about it. I don't have a talk prepared.."

"If you don't have slides, that's fine."

"No, I mean, I really have nothing to say."

"Then we'll ask questions."

"Look Miss, I'm sorry about all of this but I don't think that I have anything to say that you will want to hear."

"Oh, but Dr Watson, every year we get to choose one lecturer to invite that is our own choice. You were our classes pick. Everyone will be disappointed if you don't at least come to meet them."

John bit his lip. Then he glanced down at his suit and sighed. "Give me ten minutes to get changed first, will you?"

The girl beamed up at him. "Thank You. I'll be waiting in the lobby."

John quietly closed the door.

He looked across at his sister's prone form. She hadn't been drunk last night, but he hadn't meant to let her drink at all once they had returned from the bar. She was currently on the good side of her addiction, when she still realized that she needed limits, but he could see the pendulum swinging and he didn't want to leave her alone. On the other hand, she was right. Who was he to try to control anyone else's life when his own was so messed up?

He walked over to his bag and pulled out a bottle of paracetemol. In the lavatory, he filled a glass with water and took a couple of the pills before placing the bottle on the table next to Harry's head. Then he wrote her a note to tell her where he was going.

He pulled out his jeans, his old shirt, and the new package of pants that he had picked up at the same time that Harry had made him buy the suit. His old socks would just have to do. He hadn't brought another pair. He showered and dressed in less than the time allotted which was frankly a miracle considering his headache, but life in the army, not to mention years of Sherlock's sudden wake-up calls had taught him the skill of dressing quickly.

After coffee and a quick plate of eggs, he was whisked away in a blue mini to the school where he found himself facing a classroom of young medical students who looked at him as if he was something special. Their instructor, Dr Wilson, apologized for not staying for the lecture as he had a meeting that he needed to attend. John was grateful to have even one less witness to the train wreck of a talk that he was sure to give.

The girl stood before the class and introduced him. "And now we have our guest speaker, graduate of King's Medical School, Veteran of the war in Afghanistan, expert in triage medicine, noted blogger and physician, Dr John H. Watson."

The students clapped and smiled, and John found himself a bit touched. He was sure that they would mention Sherlock Holmes first, but the students seemed to be interested in him, not in his his famous partner. They had come because they were interested in his medical experience.

He took a breath and looked at the sea of faces before him. He couldn't remember ever being that young. Actually, when he thought of what he was like in school, craving adventure and excitement, he realized that at their age he had been a lot younger. His career in Medicine certainly wasn't what he had imagined it would be. There was loads more paperwork for one. On the other hand, there were some things that were so much better than he had expected. John tugged up the collar of his coat, and sat on the edge of the desk.

"Look," he said, "I don't really have a speech prepared. Honestly, I didn't expect to come here at all, but now that I am here. I'll tell you a few things that I wish that someone had told me back when I was in school."

He told them then what it had been like to be a doctor in the army. He told them the difference between civilian and military medical centers and they hung on his every word. Later that afternoon, he sat at a crowded cafeteria table surrounded by eager students who forced food on him, and then interrupted him so often that he hardly had time to eat.

"So what did you use if you didn't have access to blood?"

"Oh, we carried plasma with us. We weren't totally without supplies, but they were limited at times."

"And did you really do surgery outside on the ground? Wouldn't the sand have contaminated everything?"

"We constructed a tent around him. Sterilized everything. I suggested, and we adopted, the practice of carrying around a sterilized tent from then on for just such an emergency."

"That's incredible! You just don't hear those kinds of stories around here. About having to use what you have at hand to save a life."

"Oh you shouldn't glorify it. I lost lives too. Too many lives lost in fact."

"Why shouldn't we glorify it? Isn't that why we go into medicine in the first place, to save people's lives To hold a heart literally in our hands? Some day, we'll be out there, and I want to know what it's like. What you've done is marvelous!"

"Where are you working now?" asked a young ginger with cropped hair. "What hospital are you resident in?"

John put down the beer and a serious expression crossed his face. "Well, right now I'm between positions."

The young woman leaned forward and touched his sleeve, "Then why don't you consider working at our school. We need good teachers, and you've certainly got experience."

"Well that would be nice, but I don't quite have the credentials to teach in medical school," John said laughing before taking another sip of tea.

"Why not? Dr Alexander is retiring after the end of this term. There'll be an opening. You should apply."

"Oh yes!" another student chimed in, "We'd love to have you here."

"Well, I don't know about that. I live in London."

"But if you don't have a place now, you could move here. What's holding you back?"

John sat still for a minute. He could imagine Mary and Sherlock's faces as he proposed it. Sherlock would scoff at anyone actually wanting to leave London. Mary would object because of her job, but if he insisted, she would come with him. He shook the thought away. "No, sorry. Even if my background were good enough to get a position here, I don't think it would be the job for me. I'm not the type to teach."

The students made disappointed sounds and offered him another drink. When the students dropped him off at the hotel that afternoon, John was in a good mood, that is until he opened the door and saw Harry lying in front of the telly sipping a bloody mary. It didn't appear to be her first. He took the glass from her hand and poured it down the bathroom sink.

"You bastard!" Harry said."Why did you do that? I wasn't finished yet."

"I'm not going to have you sit in the hotel room all day and drink."

"I see that you're back to your old self-righteous self. That was just a bit of the hair of the dog that bit me. Besides, it was mostly tomato juice. I wasn't the one trying to get drunk, unlike some brother of mine who shall remain nameless. Where were you all this time?

"I left a note. Didn't you read it?"

"I saw something, I put it in the drawer. I thought that you had scarpered off and left me too."

"The students took me out to the school."

"What students?"

" Students from he local medical school. I was their guest speaker."

"That must have been fun. Did you tell them about the joys of married life?"

"Very funny. Actually no, it's not. You were always a mean drunk."

Harry kicked her legs rumpling the bedspread as she glared at him red-faced. "I'm not drunk! And I'm not mean? And who are you to talk anyway? You're the one who dragged me here and tossed out my drink as if you've resolved that neither of us should be having any fun this Christmas. I want to remind you that this is my holiday. I'm simply keeping you company on this misguided trek of yours because I am your sister and I love you despite the fact that you are an _insufferable bore_ and a 'know it all', so don't turn your anger on me."

John sat on the edge of the be and wiped his forehead with his fingertips. "Sorry Harry, but ... Taking care of you drunk would be just one too many things on my plate right now."

"John, I'm not drunk. This is only the second drink that I've had all day!"

"And what have you eaten?"

"Nothing. A biscuit."

"Then we're going out to dinner. There's an Indian restaurant across the street that smelled good."

"Alright, just let me pack up my things."

"It's just across the street. We'll be coming back to the hotel afterwards."

"Best to be prepared. in case we don't. Did you forget that we are on the run, Johnny boy? You really don't have the hang of being a runaway, do you? Come on then. I've watched enough crap telly for one day." Harry climbed out of bed and began putting all of her things into her bag.

The food was very good, and John was full when they left, crossing the street and walking down the pavement toward the hotel entrance.

"John, will you answer a question for me now?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Yeah, well, I've been meaning to ask you How exactly is it hiding to go to a medical conference that your wife knows that you are supposed to be speaking at? Wouldn't the great Sherlock Holmes think to look for you where you here?"

"That's the beauty of it," John said, "It's Sherlock's weakness. He knows that I am running, so he will never, ever guess that I would be exactly where you would expect to find me. He won't even think to look."

"Odd bloke that. So are you ever going to tell me what's up with Sherlock? I thought that he was on death's door."

"He's better," John said. "In fact, he's his old self again."

"What does that mean? Hey, what are you doing?"

John had suddenly stopped and grabbed Harry's arm. He pulled them back into the shadows of the building.

"What are you doing, John?"

"That car!"

"What about it?"

"It's Inspector Lestrade's."

"So, maybe he's on vacation too."

"Don't be daft, Sherlock is here. We did clear everything out of the room didn't we?"

"Yes."

"Good but...Oh damn, my suit!"

"I sent it down to be cleaned. It should still be in the laundry."

"Then maybe..." John walked up to the door where a porter was helping an older lady out of his car. He caught his attention with a folded pound note. "Hello, I'm from Room 307. I'm leaving, but I left my suit at the cleaners. Could you please get it for me?"

"Yes sir, right away." the man said sticking the notes in his pocket. John stepped back behind the pillar trying to hide, but somehow making himself look even more conspicuous. Harry turned away..

"Dr Watson?"

They turned to see a tall dark-haired woman in a purple, leather coat smiling at them.

"Oh Hello!" John said smiling back. "You're the dancer from the bar. Good to see you again, uh..."

"Phoebe. Phoebe Banks." She held out her hand and he took it.

"Yes, of course, Phoebe."

"I was just passing and I saw you standing here. How are you?"

"Here you go sir." The porter said handing John the suit and standing expectantly. He gave him a few more pounds, and the man went away.

Phoebe looked at the suit. "Are you going somewhere? My car is right over there if you need a ride."

"You have a car?" Harry asked.

"When I leave work, the trains aren't always running. Where are you going?"

"Honestly, I don't know." John said. "There's just someone in the hotel that I am trying to avoid. Is there some other hotel you can take us to? He's sure to have found my room by now."

"Someone's after you?"

"Not a criminal. We're not in danger, but yes I was trying to get away for a bit."

"Then you can stay at my place. There's not much space, but I have a soft couch."

"That's me sorted, but what about you, John?" Harry asked.

Phoebe unlocked the door to a small blue car.

"I guess I'll be sleeping on the floor," he said as he climbed into the car. Phoebe fastened her seatbelt and pulled out into traffic zooming away from the hotel.

"Oh, I wouldn't hear of it," she said. "There's no point in making a guest sleep on the floor when my bed has plenty of room for two."

John glanced at Phoebe's shy smile, but Harry burst out laughing. "John," she said, "your life is ridiculous."


	7. The past and the future

John had argued for the floor, but in the end he had taken the bed, yet when he had gone to sleep, he was sure that he had been alone in it. "Phoebe?" John said and the woman smiled at him. She rose to her feet. She was wearing a short pink night gown.

"I know. I told you that I'd sleep in the other room, but when I came in to get my eye mask, you were rolled up on the side of the bed. I didn't think you'd mind if I just slept here for a bit. Your wife has you well trained. You didn't steal the covers or anything."

"I'm sorry, I..."

"No, let me apologize. I know that you're married. I don't mean to get in the way of that. No, not at all. I'm just, grateful."

"There's no need, I mean you don't have to pay me back for saving your life."

"You don't understand. It isn't me trying to trade a favor for favor. I was being totally selfish. You see, I sometimes have trouble sleeping. After my old boyfriend, can you blame me? But when I saw that there was plenty of space, I decided, 'Why not?' I've never slept so peacefully in my life. I knew that nothing could hurt me with my savior here."

John sat up in the bed. Phoebe put on her robe. "Do you want some breakfast? I'm not that great of a cook, but there is a place down the street which makes the best English Breakfast you've ever had."

"Sounds good. Maybe later, but now could you point me to the loo?"

"It's just around the corner, come, I'll show you."

John rose to his feet. He was in his boxers. He contemplated putting on his trousers but he looked decent enough, and she had already seen him in his underwear, so he followed her out of the bedroom. Her flat was small and crowded, full of soft things in pinks, purples, and oranges.

Harry's head rose up from an orange throw pillow, and her eyes widened as she watched them exiting the bedroom together. "Good Morning, Harry," John said hoping to convey with his voice that it would be best if she refrained from scathing remarks at least until they were alone. She rolled her eyes and dropped back on the couch her fingers folding together in what they used to call the sign of the rose. Their signal that this was _'subrosa_ ' and not to be discussed outside of family. John sighed thinking of what he'd have to say to convince Harry that nothing had happened. He went back to the bedroom to get dressed. Luckily Harry was ready to leave by the time that he had found his watch and placed his rolled suit in his bag.

Phoebe was right about the breakfast shop. It was quite good, and the locals knew it, crowding into the restaurant so that there was hardly a table unfilled. Harry eyed the two of them suspiciously, but thankfully, she kept her mouth shut. John supposed that she had gained a bit of discretion after dozens of awkward morning-afters. He was thankful for that, but he still found it hard to keep her gaze. He turned away, and that's when he saw the men in uniform. He wasn't sure, but he thought that he recognized one from a case that had involved a group of servicemen on leave in London, Collin was it? Yes. He rose to his feet and walked over to talk to the man. Collin greeted him warmly.

"We just stopped for a bite. Before going back"

"Who's in charge there now? McMurphy?"

"Yeah, but he's up at headquarters now, so the commander is Colonel Heart."

"Joseph Heart? He made colonel? Oh, I would so love to see him."

"We've plenty of room in the truck, if you want to come back with us."

"I'd love to, but you're on duty. I wouldn't want to violate any regs."

"We're not really on duty until we get back. Besides, I can't see the Colonel getting upset when we are bringing an old friend to visit."

"Well, if you're sure. Would it be alright if my sister tagged along?"

"As long as she doesn't mind being couped up in a cab with some smelly old soldiers."

"Hey! I'm the only one here that has a right to be called an _old_ soldier."

"Well you know what they say. There are old soldiers, and bold soldiers, but there are no old bold soldiers."

They laughed at the joke as if they hadn't heard it a dozen times, then after a much briefer kiss goodbye from Phoebe, they were off to Marine headquarters to meet John's old friend.

They let Harry out in town before they drove up. John promised to call, but she waved him off, saying that she planned to act a proper tourist and look around. John jumped off of the truck at the gate and let it pass. He walked into the front door and showed his credentials. It wasn't long before a deep voice bellowed out his name. "Watson! It's been a long time since you were in these parts."

"Heart!" John said turning to clasp the hand of the tall dark-skinned officer, "Colonel is it now? That's a step up."

"Well, they say the cream rises to the top."

"As does the scum."

They both laughed heartily before he showed him into his office. A neat room with green walls, red curtains, and a pale wooden desk with pictures of a black woman and two young girls.

"So, Watson, what brings you out here? I thought that you were some kind of hot shot detective in London now. Is there a case?"

"No, no case. I'm just on vacation and I decided to look up an old friend."

"Well, I'm glad to see you. Last time I saw you was before the attack. Bad bit of business that. I heard that you were injured. All in order now?"

"Pretty much, pretty much. I'm doing well. And you? How did you get back here. I thought you be the last person to take a home assignment."

"Well, greater men than I decided that we were pulling out, so ...here I am."

"Well, my condolences."

Heart smiled. "My wife has been over the moon to have me back home so much, and it's been great fun seeing my girls, but I can't help missing it."

"Yeah, it sort of gets under your skin after a while. I even miss the bloody sun."

"And the sand."

"That's one thing I don't miss. I was home six months before I got the last of the sand out of my socks. So how is it going down there these days?"

Heart glanced at the door to make sure that it was closed, and then lowed his voice a bit, "This pullout has been a bit of a disaster if you ask me. There was a bit of stability when we were holding the place. Now, since the pull out began, there have been killings everywhere. People are taking the opportunity to get revenge for every slight up to twenty generations back. You'd think that those upper-crust prats who run things would have taken a class in history. An art school drop out would do a better job than most of the generals they have running us these days, and I don't mean any disrespects to art school students when I say that."

John laughed and sat back in his chair. "So what are they planning to do now?"

Heart leaned forward in his chair, "Now don't tell anyone I told you, but the rumor is that we'll be going back soon, and in larger forces. Problem is, no one understands the situation has changed. They aren't the same people who were there before. Most of those who could got out long ago. Pardon me for saying it, but those fools in charge don't know what the hell they're doing. They think they can take a town or a city and the local people will run out in the streets throwing flowers thanking us for liberating them like it's the second world war! More likely they'll come out throwing bombs."

"So you really think their will be a redeployment. Will you go?"

"Of course, that is once they make up their minds. They are sending in advisors in now. I've seen more than thirty go down in the last six months."

"Advisors? Do you think it will do any good?"

"Not if the ones that I've seen are any indication. Green blokes straight from university with no field experience."

"They need more men who've been there. Who know what it's like," John said.

"That's exactly what I've been saying all along. But really John, have you ever considered re-enlisting?"

"You know I'm too old."

"Too old to go in as a soldier, yes, but advisors have different requirements and we're desperately in need of experienced men, especially doctors."

John's eyes brightened for a moment as he considered it. "No, I don't think so. I'm not the young man I was."

"We don't need more young men. We've plenty of them. We need people with wisdom and experience. People who can keep their heads in tense situations. I probably shouldn't be mentioning this, and this shouldn't leave this room, but morale on the front lines is awful. In places like Marjah, sanity is at an all time low."

"Marjah? do we even have people stationed there?"

"Officially no, but there are quite a lot of us still there nonetheless. The mental hospitals in Kabul are bursting with people, so we keep some of the soldiers at their stations rather than bring them back here. It's beginning to be a crisis. We need people who understand what it's like in battle. You could do a lot of good there."

"Me? I'm not a psychiatrist. Hell, I'm not even fully over my own PTSD!"

"But that's exactly what we need! If there is one thing that this war is missing, it's empathy. We don't empathize with the Afghanis. They don't empathize with us, and God knows what the Americans are thinking. The war is just 'an eye for an eye for an eye' with no end in sight, and if we don't have a few sane people out there, more than one country will end up suffering."

"Well, I'll consider it," John said rising to his feet.

"Make sure you do. And if you decide that you're interested, you know how to reach me."

John nodded. "And if you ever want to reach me..."

"I'll keep an eye on the newspapers."

John smiled, "And if that doesn't work for you, my email is on the blog. I must be going. It's been really good seeing you, Heart."

"Watson."

John stuck out a hand and Heart shook it, then John saluted, and he saluted back. John then turned heel sharply and left the office. He eventually found Harry flirting with a young woman behind the counter at a camera shop.

"Come on, Harry. We've got a train to catch."

"To where?"

"I want to visit Mum."

Harry stopped leaning on the counter and after saying a quick goodbye to the woman they left.

* * *

The sun was less than an hour from setting when they arrived at the churchyard. The sky was stunning blue with wispy cirrus clouds passing overhead, and the grass was green despite the season. Harry breathed in the cold, crisp air relaxing fully for the first time since the trip had begun. John on the other hand was stiffer. He marched ahead of her with a military gait as he headed toward a tall oak tree. Beside the tree was a gravestone that read **Emily Watson, Loving Mother**.

Harry bent down and put the flowers on the grave. "Hello Mum," she said. "I came by to see you again. Look, John's here too. Finally got off his bum and came to visit."

"Don't use that kind of language. We're in a graveyard!"

"You talk to Mum the way you want, and I'll talk the way I want. Honestly John, can't we even stop arguing at mum's grave?"

"If we did stop arguing, she wouldn't recognize us." John said and then he cracked a smile. Harry smiled too.

"I hate graveyards," John said. "I have too many friends here."

Harry looked up at her brother. "What happened to the stone?"

"What stone?"

"The tombstone, for Sherlock Holmes. Is it still there?"

John looked down at her. "I don't know. I never went back ...after..."

"Where do _you_ want to be buried, John?"

"What?" John said, "Where did this come from?"

"I thought about it when mom died. When I die, I wanted to be buried here, near mom, but I didn't know about you. I didn't know if you wanted to be buried here, or in the veteran's section? Or perhaps near your friend...or something."

"I never really thought of it before," John said. "I suppose that I want to be near those that I love."

That's right. you'll want to be buried with Mary. Will they take your body to Australia? I don't think I'd like that. Too far away."

"Is that why you asked about the stone? To see if I wanted to be buried near Sherlock?"

"Well, do you?"

"I didn't like his grave. It was so lonely. I never thought about it before, but I should have noticed how odd it was to be buried so far from the rest of his family. I'd have thought...Mycroft must have his own spot picked out by now. He seems the type. Probably a place with a monument. But Sherlock wouldn't want a fancy grave, I don't think. And I wouldn't want him to lie alone... without me."

"So ...not the veteran's section?"

"I thought it would be so easy," John said. "I'd serve my term, come home, Marry, have two kids and a dog. Live a long life. Die in bed. I never ever thought that I might want something different for my life. Mycroft Holmes told me that I missed the war. That I loved the excitement, and he was right to an extent, but it isn't war that I crave. War is messy, uncomfortable, and unfair. People who should live die, and people who should die, live. I don't want to go back to that mess. I love my life here too much.

"But it does remind me. During the war, it was never about me. I was always there for my country, or to help the bloke whose legs were blown off to keep from dying. I never had a chance to think about what I wanted. I used to think that was a bad thing, but now I think that's what I've been missing these last few years.

"When I met Sherlock, it took me completely out of myself. The selfish git was always wanting things from me, tea, praise, someone to save his life. It wasn't until he was gone that I thought about what I wanted, what I needed. I thought I knew. But I was just being selfish. I guess I can't escape the Watson curse. None of us have been that good at staying married. I thought that I would be the one that would escape that fate."

"Is it really that bad? Are you and Mary going to break up?"

"I don't know what Mary thinks now. I just walked away, and now I don't know if she'll take me back again."

"Is she alive?"

"Of course she is."

"Then she'll take you back. John, you must know that she is completely in love with you."

John fell to his knees then. He sat in the cold grass looking over at the stone.

"John, you aren't like Dad."

"Aren't I?

"No. Mum and Dad had their own problems that had nothing to do with us."

"Are you honestly saying that their divorce had nothing to do with your starting drinking?"

"I'm not talking about me now, I'm talking about you. You were always the one who held this family together, John. You watched out for us, and when we got too bad, you made sure that we got cleaned up. You took on responsibility at a much younger age than you should have, and instead of helping you, I ran off and got into my own messes that I expected you to save me from. Now, I'm finally able to help you a little, and I tell you that neither Mary nor Sherlock Holmes will ever leave you if you ask them to stay. Go home, John. It's almost Christmas. Go home."

John lifted his head and looked into his sister's eyes. She walked over to him and held out her hand. He took it, and she pulled him to his feet, then they walked slowly back as the last rays of the sun turned the clouds into brilliant orange curlicues.


End file.
